


from the ashes

by pastequefolle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, post 8x05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:46:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastequefolle/pseuds/pastequefolle
Summary: A post 8x05 fixit fic. Jaime lives, and both he and Brienne have to reckon with what that means.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If D&D can write an episode where Jaime “I killed a King to save half a million lives” Lannister talks about how he’s never cared about innocents, I can write fix-it fic where he survives getting stabbed and having half a building fall on him. 
> 
> Sorry if the battle details are a bit wobbly, I refuse to re-watch that episode to get the exact details.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, all errors mine.

Two months after Jaime Lannister had left her, Brienne of Tarth received news of his death. She was with Sansa Stark when maester Wolkan informed her there’d been a raven from Tyrion: Daenerys had won the Last War, but she had ignored the Lannister surrender and chosen to burn King’s Landing. The death toll had enormous. Cersei and Jaime Lannister were among the dead; their mangled corpses had been found together in the rubble. Brienne looked down at her sword and swallowed, hard. The message grew more ominous from there: Daenerys intended to be crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in a month, and she expected all the Great Houses to be in attendance; both Sansa and Bran were expected to go.

Sansa dismissed the maester with a sharp nod, then sat down, heavily, stunned.

“Daenerys has gone mad.”

Brienne nodded, slowly. “To disregard a surrender and murder innocents? It appears so.”

“And she wants us to leave Winterfell and go to King’s Landing and smile and clap as she is crowned Queen for this atrocity?”

Sansa stood up and began to pace about the room. “I understand that she has won a war of conquest, and now she wants to make sure that the Highborn back her, but she’s not _sane,”_ she cried, wringing her hands, her voice high and agitated, “she’s no better than Cersei, and I told Tyrion, _I told him_ , there was a better option, and he didn’t listen, and now – “ she broke off with a sob.

Brienne didn’t understand. “What better option, my Lady?”

Sansa took a deep, shuddering breath. “Jon. Jon is not my brother, Brienne. He is the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and my aunt, Lyanna Stark. His true name is Aegon Targaryen, and he has a better claim to the iron throne than the woman who currently claims it.”

Brienne was staggered. “And Daenerys knows this?”

Sansa nodded.

“Who else knows?”

“Bran found it out and told Jon, who told me and Arya. I was sworn to secrecy, but I told Tyrion, hoping, _hoping_ it would make a difference, but the only result was Varys dying in dragonfire.”

Brienne had been shocked to hear of Varys’ death, but knowing what she knew now, it made sense.

“The Dragon Queen has already removed one person who knows of Jon’s claim, that leaves the three of you, and Arya’s already in King’s Landing.”

“There’s also Samwell Tarly. He’s the one who found proof of Jon’s legitimacy.”

Brienne looked at Sansa. “Samwell _Tarly_. The new head of House Tarly, who’s probably already received a similar invitation?”

Sansa nodded, and put her head in her hands. “What are we to do, Brienne? To refuse is certain death; the Dragon Queen will view our absence as proof of disloyalty and use that as a pretext to order our deaths. But to accept is to put ourselves in her power; she will have all the people who know that her reign is invalid at her disposal, to do with as she pleases. I know that we _must_ go; that the future of House Stark rests on my ability to convince Daenerys Targaryen that no member of my family will ever speak against her reign. But -” she paused.

“But what, my Lady?”

“I spent years, Brienne, _years_ , pretending to be something I was not. Years of pretending to be silly and thoughtless so the lions wouldn’t devour me; years of pretending I liked Littlefinger so he would help me, and I thought, finally, when we took Winterfell that all the pretense was finally over, that I didn’t have to lie anymore. And now I am presented with the fact that I will have to lie for the _rest of my life_ , or else be responsible for the death of my remaining family.”

They stood in silence awhile; both recognizing what had to be done but wishing they could do otherwise. Finally Brienne moved towards the door. “I will give the order to pack, my Lady. We should be ready to leave within two days.”

“Brienne?”

She paused with her hand on the door.

“I am sorry about Ser Jaime. I had no great love for him, but he seemed to make you happy.”

For a moment, Brienne could not speak. Her voice, when it came out was raspy. “He did. For a while.”

Sansa took a step towards her and said, “Sometimes, Brienne, the ones we love make terrible choices. We love them no less for it.”

She could not bear to turn and look at Sansa, to see the sympathy shining from those eyes. She simply said, “He made a choice, my Lady, as you said. A terrible choice,” and left.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey from Winterfell to King’s Landing was absolutely dismal. Sansa was clearly living on her nerves, and her worry infected the entire party with a sense of nameless dread. Bran was present in body only most of the time; his mind could have been anywhere or anywhen. Brienne herself tried to put on a strong face, but she could tell from the sad looks Pod kept giving her that she was failing miserably.

And she was miserable. The passage of time had not dulled her misery; like Oathkeeper’s Valyrian steel it remained sharp and wounding. She tried, again and again, to assess the facts. First, Jaime Lannister had wanted her. This, surprisingly, was not in dispute. He had had her so many times, so many ways during his time at Winterfell, she could hardly doubt it. Secondly, he had liked her, perhaps even loved her. He had given her the thing she wanted most in the world, in defiance of tradition; he had fought beside her loyally and well; and sometimes, _sometimes_ , she had thought he looked at her as thought she was something wondrous. The third fact, however was the most indisputable and the most painful of them all: neither wanting, nor liking, nor love had been enough to keep him away from Cersei. He had chosen to return to his sister’s side; he had preferred death with Cersei to life with Brienne. Tears came to her eyes, as they often did when she thought of Jaime. She caught Pod out of the corner of her eye, shaking his head in sympathy, and she blinked the tears away angrily.

As they approached the gates of King’s Landing, an almost palpable change came over Sansa. The worry and anxiety left her eyes, to be replaced by an air of ineffable serenity. Brienne stared at her in amazement. “You must teach me how to do that, my Lady.”

Sansa smiled, “You have your weapons, Brienne, and I have mine,” as the gates of King’s Landing opened and they were met by Jon Snow at the head of a regiment of Unsullied. He looked even gloomier than usual, which Brienne had not thought possible, but his eyes lit up when he saw Sansa and Bran.

They rode slowly through the city to what was left of the Red Keep. The destruction was beyond anything Brienne had thought possible; she turned to look at Jon, but he and Sansa were riding with their horses next to each other as they talked to each other in low tones. She turned back and surveyed the city again. Daenerys had not just lashed out, she had rampaged, and King’s Landing would bear the scars for generations. The smallfolk looked scared, as well they might; the architect of their near-annihilation was to be crowned Queen in a week.

Finally they reached the apartments where they were to be staying. Arya was staying with Gendry Baratheon – Jon said, in the tones of a disapproving big brother whose attempts at _expressing_ said disapproval had been soundly rebuffed – but she would be along shortly. He left, promising to have refreshments sent, and Brienne, Sansa and Bran were left alone as the servants unpacked.

Sansa cast a glance at Bran, saw he was absent, and indicated that Brienne should sit next to her. “Daenerys seems happy, Jon says,” she whispered. They looked at each other, understanding perfectly. Who would not seem happy, with every possible threat to her reign gathered close under her and her dragon’s watchful eye?

“What about Jon?” Brienne wanted to ask, but was prevented from doing so by a knock on the door. “Arya!” Sansa exclaimed and jumped up, only it was not Arya, but Tyrion Lannister, with Bronn at his side.

“My Lord”, Sansa said, dipping in a flawless curtsey as Brienne and Bronn nodded at each other, “how wonderful to see you.”

“My Lady,” Tyrion said, his eyes fixed on Sansa, “it is my pleasure to see you looking so well.” His gaze left Sansa and came to Brienne, and he looked sad, almost apologetic. There were echoes of Jaime in his Lannister face; Brienne had to look away.

They all sat down as Sansa and Tyrion discussed the battle of King’s Landing briefly, almost cursorily. Brienne noticed how carefully they both avoided saying anything condemnatory about the Dragon Queen’s actions. The walls must have ears, Brienne realized; Daenerys must have found a new Master of Whispers to replace Varys.

There was a lull in the conversation. In the silence, Brienne observed Tyrion. He looked pale and nervous, like someone bringing his courage to the sticking point. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Lady Sansa, I have come to beg a favour.”

Sansa’s eyes sharpened. “What favour, my Lord?”

“I need you to lend me your sworn sword.”

“Ser Brienne? Why?” She looked at Brienne and then back to Tyrion. “What task do you need accomplished that Ser Bronn cannot do?”

It was Tyrion and Bronn’s turn to look at each other; finally Bronn shrugged and Tyrion sighed.

“I have a cat –“ he started, and Sansa laughed, “a cat?”

“A cat,” he continued, “that I love most dearly. However it was injured most grievously in the battle for King’s Landing.”

Here he paused, because Brienne had begun to tremble. Next to her, Sansa bit out, “What sort of cat, Tyrion?”

Tyrion took a deep breath and said, “One without a paw, Sansa.” Brienne fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

When Brienne came back to consciousness, she was slumped back in her chair, with Sansa pressing a cold cloth to her face. She sat up straight, her head swimming, as Sansa remonstrated with her not to move too quickly. Both Tyrion and Bronn were looking at her sympathetically. It made her want to break something.

“This … cat,” she said hoarsely, “must have been quite lucky to survive the fall of King’s Landing.”

Tyrion swallowed. “I don’t know if you can call it luck, ser. It lives, barely.”

“But what has this to do with Brienne?” Sansa’s voice was pure ice.

Tyrion looked helpless. Not as helpless as she had felt, watching Jaime ride away from her, and the thought lent steel to her spine.

“There’s those that’ll see him dead,” Bronn said suddenly, as Tyrion gesticulated furiously for him to lower his voice, “never mind that he went into the city to get Cersei to surrender – much good that did anybody in the end.”

“And?” it was Sansa who asked. Brienne was incapable of speech.

Tyrion seemed to have to come to a resolution. He hopped down from his chair and took Brienne’s hand in his. “I know my brother hurt you, and I know his sins are numerous. He may even –“ and here his voice broke, “- deserve death. But what he does not deserve, when he has been the saviour of King’s Landing, is death by dragonfire. I could not _bear_ it –“ he stopped, sobbing.

Sansa was looking at Tyrion without an ounce of sympathy. “And what about what Brienne can bear, Tyrion?”

“I don’t ask you to forgive him, ser. Only to escort him away from this place of death.  Take him to Tarth. If he dies, he dies. If he lives, put him on a boat to Essos and be done with him.”

Brienne found her voice, finally. “As he was done with me.”

Into the ensuing silence, Sansa spoke. “This is all very well to talk about, Tyrion, but how will we explain this? That my sworn sword leaves the city as soon as she arrives? How will it look?” She did not need to specify to _whom_.

Tyrion pulled out a letter and handed it to Brienne, who quickly read it and passed it to Sansa. It was from her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth; it was addressed to the hand of the king and requested that Brienne be sent home to Tarth, painting a very sad picture of Lord Selwyn’s failing health and his desire to see his daughter once more before he passed on. As forgeries went, it was excellent.

Sansa read the letter, then looked up, eyes narrowed. “ _Now_ you think of everything, Tyrion?”

“This is all besides the point,” Brienne said, voice trembling, “I am charged with protecting Lady Sansa. I cannot abandon her, not here.”

“I would release you from your vow if you wished it, Brienne.” She turned, aghast, and saw Sansa beckoning her to come closer so she could whisper in her ear. “The dangers we face, you cannot protect us from. You know this. It would give me some measure of comfort to know that you were safe on Tarth, away from this madness.”

Still Brienne wavered. Then Bran spoke. “Ser Jaime charged you to be just. Would his death by dragonfire be justice, ser?”

Tyrion’s head whipped around to stare at Bran, then back again to Brienne. His look was beseeching. Finally Brienne said, in a rusty voice, “alright, I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bronn has no patience for the cat metaphor, i love him.


	4. Chapter 4

In a low voice, Tyrion sketched out his plan: House Stark and its retainers would meet the queen and her hand later that afternoon; Tyrion would come forward with the letter from Lord Selwyn Tarth and convince Brienne to return home; Brienne would feign reluctance but finally acquiesce. Brienne nodded along, thinking; she wouldn’t have to do much to feign reluctance. Tyrion went on, “I will say that I have a ship ready for you to leave on, in recognition of your service to my former wife –“

“No,” said Sansa abruptly.

“Sansa, we were married – “

“Not that! Tyrion, think! Wouldn’t ‘in recognition of your services to the realm’ be much better?”

Ah. Daenerys wouldn’t appreciate the reminder that Sansa – her most vocal opponent – had her faithful knight by her side still, when Daenerys had lost nearly everyone who had come with her from Essos.

Tyrion nodded. “As you say, Sansa. In any case, the ship is ready and can sail with the tide. Your _luggage_ will be on board and waiting for you. From there, it is in your hands.”

Brienne looked down at her hands and nodded. Tyrion and Bronn made to leave, but she called them back, “One moment, Lord Tyrion. Why not send Bronn?”

Bronn grinned. “He tried, the wee imp, but I told him, this time I’m not leaving until I get that castle I was promised.” Tyrion rolled his eyes, and Bronn went on, more seriously, “and frankly, I don’t rate his chances of staying alive to _get_ me said castle without me there to protect him.”

“Tyrion, which castle did you promise him?”

Tyrion looked rueful. “Highgarden.” At their shocked looks, he went on, “In my defence, he had a crossbow pointed at my face at the time.”

Bronn smirked. “Come along, Lannister. What’s that you lot always say about paying your debts, eh?”

They left, and Brienne turned to Sansa, “my lady, are you sure?”

Sansa smiled, sadly. “The battlefield ahead of us is not one of swords or spears, Brienne, but of words and courtesies. If I lose there, you cannot protect us.” Brienne remembered Drogon, the vast reptilian coldness of its gaze and shuddered. Sansa went on, now in a low whisper, so that Brienne had to stoop to hear, “Also, though I care little for Tyrion’s _cat_ , it amuses me to deny Daenerys her vengeance. She has shed enough of her people’s blood already.”

There was a knock on the door, startling them, but it was only Arya, looking faintly amused. "You've only been here a day, Sansa, and already I can tell you are up to something."

"Arya, the walls have _ears_."

Arya smiled, and it was a chilling sight. "Not your walls, sister. I made sure of that. Consider it a welcome present."

* * *

 

Later, they all walked down to the Great Hall. Arya led their little procession accompanied by Gendry Baratheon, followed by Sansa and Brienne, and finally Bran in his chair, being pushed by a servant. If Gendry and Arya were walking closer to each other than propriety demanded, Sansa said nothing. Brienne looked at her out of the corner of her eye; Sansa was almost visibly marshalling all her strength, and Brienne regretted that she could not be of more help to her Lady in the fight to come.

They had reached the Great Hall, and as they were announced, Brienne surveyed the Hall, or rather what was left of it; great chunks of the roof were missing, part of the walls blown away, but what had survived without a scratch was the Iron Throne, high above them, and seated on it was  the Dragon Queen. Standing a few steps below her were Jon, looking characteristically glum, and Tyrion, looking _un_ characteristically nervous. They made their way along the hall and reached the foot of the iron throne. Arya, Gendry and Brienne bowed, and remained bowed, while Sansa dipped in a deep, low curtsey and said, “My Queen, House Stark congratulates you on your victory.”

They waited, bowed in obeisance; Brienne counted off at least ten heartbeats and wondered if they were to be her last, when finally, Daenerys Stormborn said, in her clear, bell-like voice, “Arise, my faithful subjects.” They all straightened, Sansa arising from her curtsey almost effortlessly, and Brienne raised her head to look at the Queen.

During their time at Winterfell, Brienne had quite admired Daenerys, Sansa’s distrust notwithstanding. Daenerys, like Brienne, knew what it was like to be told, repeatedly, that you could not accomplish what you wanted to; knew that when you did accomplish it, you were quite likely to be met with jeers. Daenerys had met all the obstacles in her way with strength and resolution, and Brienne had respected her for it. Now, however, what shone in the Queen’s face was not resolve, but a reckless, almost frantic jubilation; her light had burst from candleflame to wildfire, incandescent but devastating.

Brienne remained silent as Sansa pledged House Stark’s loyalty to the throne; Daenerys accepted the pledge calmly enough, and gave a very pretty speech about reconciliation and rebuilding, but the glances she continually exchanged with Jon and Tyrion were foreboding. Brienne realized that even Tyrion was on shaky ground with his Queen; that perhaps he would soon not be able to keep himself safe, let alone a half-dead brother wanted for treason. It explained why he was in such a hurry to get Jaime out of King’s Landing; he wanted to send his brother to safety while he still could.

Their business concluded, Tyrion, with a very convincing show of concern, produced the letter from her father. Brienne took it and pretended to read it; while she did so, Tyrion explained the matter to Daenerys in a low voice. Brienne turned to Sansa and said, “My Lady –“ whereupon Sansa took the letter from her, pretended to read it and said instantly, “You must go, Brienne.”

As she had thought, she had no trouble feigning reluctance, “My Lady, I cannot leave you –“ when suddenly Daenerys interrupted. “May I see the letter?”

Brienne took the letter and climbed the steps of the Iron Throne to hand it to Daenerys, who read it and handed it back to her.

“You must go,” said the Queen, “I do not have a father living, but if I did, I would wish to spend what time I could with him.” A measure of calm had returned to her face. “Tyrion,” she called imperiously, “arrange a boat for Lady Brienne to Tarth.”

Tyrion looked momentarily dumbfounded, but nodded. “At once, Your Grace.”

Daenerys turned back to Brienne. “You fought bravely and well at the battle of Winterfell, Lady Brienne. Now obey your Queen, and return to your father.” And Brienne understood, with the clarity she usually only found in battle, that Daenerys cared nothing for filial piety, or rewarding a soldier; Daenerys thought only of removing Sansa’s protection. Brienne swallowed, looked down at Sansa, whose beautiful face showed nothing, looked back up at Daenerys, whose look had turned watchful and strangely exultant. _To refuse is to die_ , she thought.

“I – thank you, Your Grace. I shall do as you command.”

And Daenerys smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still FIRMLY stuck in the anger stage of grieving.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn’t obvious, I have no idea how tides or boats work. Just like how D&D have no idea how characterization works. *mic drop*

After their audience with Daenerys, the Stark party walked slowly back to their rooms; Arya and Gendry ahead as before, followed by Sansa and Brienne, deep in thought, and Bran.

“I suppose we should look on the bright side,” Sansa said to Brienne, “you don’t need to worry about packing because you haven’t been here long enough to unpack.” They both looked at each other and began to laugh, slightly hysterically. Arya turned to look at them, shook her head, and turned back to Gendry.

Brienne thought that Arya and Gendry made a striking couple, dark-haired and beautiful. “When will they marry?” she asked Sansa, in a low voice.

“Soon, I hope.” Sansa laughed. “It’s what Robert Baratheon wanted, you know, to join our two houses because of his great friendship with our father.” Her voice went cold abruptly. “It’s why I was betrothed to Joffrey.”

Brienne had met Joffrey at his wedding; she had thought him all Cersei’s child, with nothing of Jaime to sweeten him. “An unpleasant boy, my lady.”

“His wedding was entertaining enough, at the end.” The memory brought a smile to both their faces, but abruptly Brienne remembered Jaime, glorious in his Kingsguard armour, rushing to the side of his dying son. She shivered.

They had reached their rooms; Gendry kissed Arya, bowed to the rest of them, and strode off. Sansa eyed him thoughtfully.

“Should I tell him not to kiss my sister like that in public before they are wed, or even officially betrothed?”

“You could,” Arya said, having heard the question, “I’ll just have to kiss him in private then.”

Sansa sighed, then turned to Brienne. They were now in their rooms, and there were no ears to hear, “Brienne. What will you do?”

“Do?”

“About _Jaime Lannister_ ,” Sansa mouthed.

Brienne said, haltingly, “I owe him a great debt, my lady. If he is dying, I owe him a peaceful death. Tarth is peaceful enough, f-for that.” She steadied her voice. “If he lives – once he chooses what he wants, I will help him achieve that purpose _._ ” _He already chose, and it wasn’t you_ , a voice in her head said, but she ignored it.

“I knew this day would come,” Sansa sighed. “I knew one day you would be called back to Tarth, and I had prepared myself for that eventuality, but now – I will miss you, Brienne.” And suddenly Sansa was hugging her, and Brienne hugged back.

“It has been the honour of my life,” said Brienne finally, “to serve Lady Catelyn, and to serve you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” said Sansa, and there were tears in her eyes, as well as in Brienne’s.

* * *

 

The sun was just setting as Brienne, Pod and Tyrion made their way down to the docks. Pod had been informed of the plan, and had chosen to come with Brienne. “Tarth’s quiet, isn’t it, my Lady? It’ll be nice to have some quiet, won’t it, after all we’ve been through?” She had stared at him, and nodded, strangely moved by his loyalty.

They reached their dock, and Brienne was taken aback. This was nothing like the fishing vessels she was used to, on Tarth; this was a sailboat fit for a King.

“Isn’t this a bit conspicuous, Tyrion?” she bit out, and he said, simply, “Our Queen commanded it.”

He gestured, and Brienne knelt to better hear him. “The boat belonged to my late, unlamented sire, hence the copious lion imagery throughout, but more importantly, the sailors are all Lannister men, so you don’t need to worry about their loyalty. You and Pod both have cabins to yourself; your cabin has a wall with a very cunningly worked lion mural you should probably pay attention to.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. _Lannisters and their cleverness_ , she thought, and said, “We catch smugglers on Tarth, Tyrion. I’m familiar with all manner of caches and hideaways.”

They smiled at each other, ruefully, then Tyrion spoke, his voice carefully controlled. “I know I’ve asked a lot of you, Brienne, but take care of him. _Please_. He’s all I have left.” She did not trust her voice to be steady, so she simply nodded, stood up and boarded the ship, trusting Pod to follow. As soon as they were on board, Tyrion nodded to the captain, and the sailors immediately sprung into action. As the boat pulled away, Brienne and Pod stood on deck and watched as both Tyrion and King’s Landing grew smaller and smaller in the distance. When the city could no longer be seen, Brienne drew in a deep breath and asked a sailor to show them to their cabins.

Their cabins were next to each other, as expected; Pod’s smaller, but still well-appointed in the Lannister style, whereas hers was a proper stateroom. She shut and barred the door and looked around her. To people who had not grown up around boats and smuggling, this would simply be a magnificent room, bedecked in Lannister red and gold, but to her, it was obvious that the cabin was smaller than it ought to be. The wall that was taken up by an enormous mural was where the hidden room – _and Jaime_ – were.

She waited, paralyzed. What had she been _thinking_? For one mad moment, she thought of going back on deck and asking the captain to turn around, but then Jaime’s voice came back to her, unbidden, “Have you ever run from a fight?”

 _Damn you, Jaime Lannister_ , she thought, and squared her shoulders. She walked to the mural, and quickly found a lion whose eyes were not paint but stone. She pressed the stones, and a door slid open, and there, in a tiny windowless cabin, staring blankly at the wall, was Jaime Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: And now the hard part begins. *head desk*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This conversation takes place before Brienne gets on board the ship. If I had planned this fic properly, it would probably have come sooner in the story, but this is 100% unbeta-ed rage fic. So. *shrug*

“I’m no nursemaid, Tyrion. If he’s so grievously wounded, is it even safe to move him?”

There was something frightening about seeing Tyrion Lannister, a man Jaime had always described as the cleverest in the Seven Kingdoms, at a loss for words.

“His wounds… are not just those of the body. He was stabbed, viciously, and we had to dig out half of the red keep to get to him –“ Tyrion paused, took a healthy swallow of wine.

Him _and_ Cersei, Brienne understood.

Tyrion looked up from his wine. “Physically, he’s healing remarkably well. The maester who examined him thinks he may come away with only a minor limp. Mentally, on the other hand? He’s entirely absent.”

“Are - are his wits affected?”

Tyrion drank some more wine, and did not reply immediately. It was truly remarkable that he had managed to establish a plentiful supply of wine in a city that was mostly cinders and ash, Brienne thought. She felt herself to be on the edge of a cliff; at the top were reason and calm, at the bottom, tears and hysteria. The idea of sharp, beautiful Jaime Lannister having lost his wits was almost enough to push her over; but she steadied herself and braced for Tyrion’s answer.

“No,” he said finally, and Brienne suppressed a sigh of relief, “I don’t believe so. He responds to his name; he eats food when it is offered; he’ll follow along if escorted. But he hasn’t said anything or _done_ anything of his own volition since we found him. It’s as though his spirit has gone somewhere far, far away, and left an empty shell behind him.”

Brienne sat down, heavily. _“Let them have the meat, and you go far away,”_ she whispered.

“ _What_ did you say?!”

“When he and I were captured by the Brave Companions, and I was going to be raped, that’s what he said to me. _Let them have the meat, and you go far away,_ he said, _let them do it and go away inside_.”

Tyrion sucked in a breath. “And did you?”

Brienne shook her head. “I didn’t have to. he lied, told the Brave Companions that I was worth a bag of sapphires.” She reached over to Tyrion, grabbed his glass, and took a gulp of wine. “And now he’s the one who’s gone far away.”

Tyrion sighed. “If the situation was not what it was, he could stay here and recover, for as long as it took. But. He’s not safe here. Seven Hells, _I’m_ barely safe here. If I’m taken, and there’s no one to arrange his  care, he’ll starve to death, quiet as a lamb. If he’s taken – and we’ve been lucky thus far, but luck’s never been faithful to me – it’s death by dragonfire. Brienne,” he said, putting his small hand on her enormous one, “I believe you can save my brother.”

“Your brother didn’t believe he could be saved.” Brienne said, in a rough voice. “But I owe him a debt, and I will see my debt paid. To the best of my ability I will care for your brother and see him safe.”

She got up to leave; behind her, Tyrion spoke suddenly.

“He made many mistakes. Knighting you was not one of them.”

She turned back to look at him, nodded in acknowledgement and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I putting off their actual meeting because I’m still so mad on Brienne’s behalf and I may just write her calling him an idiot sandwich? YES. 
> 
> Also, the “let them have the meat” quote is direct from ASOS.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now back on board HMS Heartbreak, destination Tarth.

He looked thin, was her first thought; paler and thinner even than he had been after their ordeal at the hands of the Brave Companions. His hair was shorter than it had been when he had Winterfell, his face clean-shaven, and his golden right hand had been replaced by a serviceable wooden one; presumably the real golden hand had gone on the corpse Tyrion had substituted in his place.

As he sat, quiet and still, Brienne remembered him walking towards her in the baths at Harrenhal; _half a corpse and half a God_ , she had thought. Even maimed and feverish, there had been a combative look in his eye. Now, he simply looked – dead. It made her want to weep for the sheer waste of it.

She didn’t know what to _do_. Jaime Lannister had been the only man she had ever let into her heart, and he had taken her love and thrown it back at her, preferring the love of his sister. From now on, the only bonds between them _must_ be that of friendship and knighthood. For friendship’s sake, however, she would try her utmost to bring him back to himself.

She cleared her throat. “Ser Jaime,” she said, careful to keep her voice cool and detached.

His eyes flicked to hers, then away again; there was no sense of recognition or welcome in his gaze. She might have been anybody to him. It hurt almost as badly as being left behind.

“Jaime.” Again that same blank gaze.

She was warrior enough to know there was a time to fight and a time to retreat; she turned and left Jaime to his solitude.

*

Without being asked, the sailors brought meals for two to her cabin; Jaime picked at the food placed in front of him, eating just enough to keep body and soul together. His beard had started to grow out again; in that, at least, he resembled the Jaime she loved best, the one she remembered from Winterfell, with his warm kisses and glowing eyes. As for the rest of him, it was as though the Stranger held him ransom; he was in some dark place where she could not follow. _Gentle Mother_ , she prayed, _help me save him, do not let him perish in darkness._

If the Mother heard her prayers, she gave no sign. Jaime, likewise, gave no sign that he really heard anything Brienne said.

“Do you know who I am?” No response.

She placed the lion-headed pommel of Oathkeeper in his left hand; his fingers curled around it, briefly, before relaxing into stillness. “Jaime, do you know what you’re holding?” No response.

In desperation, she even dragged Podrick in front of Jaime. “Jaime, do you recognize this boy?” Still nothing.

The whole voyage was an exercise in frustration. When they docked in the harbour at Evenfall, Brienne shut Jaime back up in his cabin, while she and Pod went ashore with their things. Tarth was as beautiful and wild as she remembered, but her joy at returning home was tainted with the knowledge that she had a quest but no way to complete it. Some of that conflict must have shown on her face, because her father, after greeting her with open arms, grabbed her by the shoulders, took a good look at her face, then marched her along to his solar to talk.

He poured them both glasses of wine, they sat in comfortable chairs by the fire, and after a few moments of companionable silence, Lord Selwyn Tarth said, “Tell me.” So Brienne did, only leaving out the part where Jaime Lannister had been in her bed. Repeatedly. Her father listened in silence, till her tale came to a halting end, and asked, “Do you love this man?”

“He doesn’t love me,” she replied, staring into the fire.

“Daughter, that’s not what I asked,” and his voice was infinitely kind.

She dragged in one deep breath, then another, and another. Tears had begun to roll down her face, but she did not raise her hands to wipe them away. “ _Yes_ ,” she said, and wept.

“Well then, we’ll do what we can for the man you love, Kingslayer or no.”

*

The harbour at Evenfall was busy enough; to minimize the chances of someone seeing a one-armed handsome blond man and telling tales in other ports where it might get back to Daenerys or her new Master of Whispers, they waited till late at night to get Jaime from the ship. He came with her and Pod quietly enough, but Brienne would have preferred anything – even the laughing, jeering Jaime who had mocked her endlessly when they first left Riverrun – to this docile stranger.

Her father met them at the gates of Evenfall. He had no great love for the famed Kingslayer, she knew, but when he looked at the thin, quiet man standing in Brienne’s shadow, the scorn left his face to be replaced by pity. When Jaime had been fed and put to bed, he asked, “Brienne, if you can’t bring him back, what will you do?” She did not, could not, reply.

The next day, Brienne and Pod sparred for an hour in the morning, with Jaime brought down to watch. She deliberately fought badly, leaving obvious openings for Pod to exploit, to no avail. Her Jaime, the real Jaime, would have been shouting in outrage to see her fighting so poorly, but this shadow Jaime did not make so much as a murmur.

The rest of the morning she spent with her father, refamiliarizing herself with the actual running of Evenfall. While she had been a girl she had hardly ever given a thought to the matter, being rather more obsessed with swords, but the months she had spent at Winterfell in Sansa Stark’s shadow had been quite instructive. Her father was quietly impressed. “Why, I could go off adventuring myself, and leave Evenfall in your hands, couldn’t I?” Brienne rolled her eyes and laughed.

In the afternoon, she went for a long walk, tramping through fields and meadows, Jaime trudging along silently behind her. There was no barrage of protests, no one grumbling about how a puddle had soaked his shoes through, no one to say, “ _Walking_? Walking’s for the lowborn, wench. _We’ve_ got horses.” Brienne sighed, and continued walking.

That day set the pattern for the week that followed: Exercise, Business, Walk, Eat, Sleep, Repeat. At the end of the week, Brienne was at her wit’s end. What had she been thinking, to accept this mission from Tyrion? She sat in her room at night and considered her options. One, they could continue like this indefinitely – only they _couldn’t_ , because her nerves couldn’t stand it any longer, being around a stranger who looked like Jaime but wasn’t him. Two, she could bring him back to himself – only _no_ , she’d been trying, _trying_ ever since they left King’s Landing, and she’d failed miserably. Three, she put him out of his misery.

What had Tyrion said? _If he dies, he dies_. Had he known then that this was the choice she would be faced with? He was not the cleverest man in the seven kingdoms for nothing _. Damn you, Tyrion, for forcing this on me._

She got up, and quietly made her way to Jaime’s room, which was just down the hall from her own. He was sitting on his bed, looking out his window at Shipbreaker Bay. She sat down next to him and took his left hand in between both of hers.

“Jaime,” she began, looking for a reaction, but as usual there was none. “Jaime, I don’t know what I should do. No, I _do_ know, but I can’t, I _can’t_ , it would be to cut the heart out of my body.” She was weeping now. “I lied – I lied to myself that the only bonds between us were those of friendship. I love you, Jaime. I have loved you since you leapt into that bear pit at Harrenhal to save me. I loved you when you trusted me to carry out your oath to Catelyn Stark, I loved you when you came to Winterfell, I even loved you when you broke my heart. Damn – _Damn_ you, Jaime Lannister, for doing this to me, and then _leaving –_ “

She dropped his hand, took his face in her two hands and kissed him, as if for the last time. His lips were still beneath hers; her face was wet with her tears. Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away, eyes still closed.

When she opened them again, Jaime was looking at her, _really_ looking.

“Brienne?” he said in a raspy voice, and she didn’t think of rejection or heartbreak, didn’t think of anything but the fact that he was somehow, by the grace of the Seven, back with her, she cried, “Jaime, yes, _Jaime_ ,” and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So GRRM has said that Brienne and Jaime are a reworking of the Beauty and the Beast story. In keeping with the fairytale inspiration, obviously it had to be a kiss that woke the sleeping prince. :D 
> 
> Comment and let me know what you think, or come talk to me on [tumblr](https://pastequefolle.tumblr.com/).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected, for two reasons. Firstly, as I moved away from anger to acceptance, my motivation took a nosedive. Secondly, I couldn’t make sense of Jaime’s motivations for what he did, so how could I write him and Brienne having a discussion about them? So unfortunately, this chapter is a bit of a mess.

The next morning, as Lord Selwyn Tarth came down to breakfast, he heard shouting. One of the voices was his daughter, the other an unfamiliar man, so Selwyn quickened his pace, practically running to the Hall. He flung open the door to discover his daughter and the Kingslayer, loudly arguing over breakfast.

“You’ve been starving yourself for weeks, Jaime, you can’t suddenly ask for a mountain of bacon, you’ll be _sick_ –“

“Sick? What I am, _Brienne_ , is weak, and I’m _weak_ because I’m _starving_ and you won’t let me have any decent food, and now apparently you won’t even _look_ at me -”

This of course, was because Brienne had just seen her father standing in the doorway. The Kingslayer turned his head to see what she was looking at; when he saw Selwyn, he immediately made to stand up, and then had to sit back down because weeks of barely eating had left him weaker than a newborn fawn.

“Good morning, Lord Selwyn,” he said, “I thank you for your hospitality.”

“Hmph,” said Selwyn, ignoring the slightly beseeching look Brienne was giving him. “Sit. Eat.” He sat at their table and called for a servant to bring him his breakfast. There was a prolonged, awkward silence, till Brienne broke it with, “Father, ser Jaime is better this morning.”

“I see that, daughter. And how exactly did this miraculous recovery occur?”

Both his daughter and the Kingslayer blushed. Selwyn narrowed his eyes.

“I woke up this morning,” Lannister said, staring at his plate, “and it was as if I’d been asleep for weeks.”

Whatever had happened to bring the Kingslayer back to himself, he bore little resemblance to the pale, quiet ghost who had been haunting Evenfall for the past week. He remained gaunt and unkempt, but his eyes were sparkling and there was a vitality to him that had been wholly absent only the day before. Brienne kept looking at him, as if to make sure he was real, and then away, as if she could not bear to look at him too long. _Ah daughter_ , Selwyn thought, _you do love this man. Alas, that he will never love you back._

“I’m glad you’re awake, Kingslayer,” he said. Selwyn had named Lannister Kingslayer deliberately, to needle the man who would break his daughter’s heart, but still, he was surprised to see the man in front of him flinch visibly. Odd, considering Jaime Lannister had been called Kingslayer throughout the seven kingdoms for over twenty years.

“Jaime,” said Brienne, softly. “His name is ser Jaime Lannister.” And now the Kingslayer was looking at his daughter the same way she had looked at him, eyes soft and yearning. Selwyn’s eyebrows went up. _Oh_ , he realized _, he loves her as well_.

He looked back at Brienne. Her eyes were clear and resolute, just as they had been when she had announced her decision to leave Tarth and join Renly Baratheon. He had not gainsaid her then and he would not do it now. “My apologies, ser Jaime. Eat up, you’ll need to get your strength back.”

Brienne smiled, just the smallest upturn of her lips, and next to her Jaime Lannister relaxed.

“I am trying, Lord Selwyn, only your daughter won’t _let_ me –“

Brienne rolled her eyes. “Father, don’t encourage him.”

* * *

 

After breakfast, Brienne took Jaime for a walk. He rolled his eyes – _a walk, Brienne? Don’t you have horses on Tarth?_ – but came along peaceably enough.

As they tramped through a meadow, she asked, “does any of this look familiar, Jaime?”

“It’s a meadow, Brienne. Don’t they all look alike?”

“I asked because this is the eighth day we’ve walked through here. I wondered if you remembered anything.”

Jaime stopped. His face had gone very pale, so much so that she reached for him before she could stop herself. “Jaime? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t remember any of it. The last thing I remember before waking up with you – oh _Gods_ , the last thing –“

“What?” asked Brienne, knowing what the answer would be and dreading it all the same.

“Cersei,” he whispered, “I held her in my arms as the Red Keep fell down on us.”

She swallowed, dropped her hands to her sides.

“I am sorry, Jaime. I know you loved her.“

“I did,” he said quietly.

Oh how that hurt, Brienne thought. She’d had battle wounds that hurt less. Even though she had known that Jaime’s love for Cersei was at the very heart of him – had in fact repeated this to herself at night in a futile attempt to cure her love for him – still, to hear it from his own mouth was like salt on a fresh wound.

“I am sorry,” she repeated, and meant it.

“You don’t have to lie, Brienne,” he said, sounding weary.

“I’m not lying, and I’m not sorry for her, I’m sorry for you. Nothing’s more hateful than failing to protect the ones you love.”

He looked at her, blue eyes thoughtful. Finally he said, “You didn’t fail me. You know that, don’t you?”

She didn’t trust her voice, so she simply nodded, looking away towards the horizon.

“Brienne,” his voice was sharper now, “you protected me from Daenerys, from Sansa, from the dead. You could not have protected me from myself. That’s what I thought Cersei was, the other half of myself. She was my mirror, my twin, and if _she_ was hateful then so was I, and if _she_ was going to die, then I would as well.”

“Why?” Brienne asked, before she could stop herself.

“I always knew I would die with her. We came into the world together, and we would leave it together. All my life, I’ve known that was my fate. But now she’s dead, and I’m alive, and somehow, I don’t mind. It’s as though I was there with her at the end, I did my duty, and now I’m free.”

He drew in a sharp breath, almost a sob, then paused, thoughtful. “ _Nothing’s more hateful than failing to protect the ones you love_. That’s true enough. I couldn’t protect my children, I couldn’t protect Cersei, I couldn’t protect you. I think that qualifies me as hateful, wouldn’t you say?”

“What do you mean, you couldn’t protect me?” Brienne whispered. Her heart was beating loudly, all of a sudden. Surely he must hear it, in the quiet of the meadow. “I’m a knight, I don’t need protection.”

“I didn’t protect you from myself. I loved you, and I wanted you, and I bedded you, with no thought to the future. You deserved better than a one-handed knight with no future, but I didn’t care. My heart was not truly free, but I came to you anyway, then I broke your heart and left you crying behind me as I rode away from Winterfell.” He stepped closer to her, put his left hand on her cheek. Unbidden, her hand came up to cover his. “Brienne,” he said, voice low and tender, “I hurt you and I am sorry for it. You are the finest person I know and you deserved – you deserve better than me.”

“I knew,” she said, haltingly, “I knew that your heart wasn’t free. I knew it and I wanted you anyway, because I loved you, and you seemed to want me. Nobody’s ever wanted _me_ before. And I thought, or I _hoped_ , that I could be enough for you. I was wrong.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but some how she didn’t care. What were a few more tears to the hundreds she had already shed over the man standing pale and stricken in front of her?

“Brienne, you are more than –“ he began, then stopped abruptly, as if something had suddenly come to him. “Do you know what it’s like, being pulled out from a cave-in?”

She shook her head, and he went on. “You’re in this close, dark place, and suddenly, somewhere above you, you see light. It could very well be the light of the Seven, it’s so glorious. So you struggle, and you push your way towards the light, and there are hands, helping you out, and finally, finally you win free, and you gasp for breath. It’s…,” and his tone is faintly revelatory now, “it’s like being born. Do you see, Brienne? It’s as though I died there, below the Red Keep with Cersei, only to be born again a free man.”

It was too much. She struggled to find the words. “What are you saying, Jaime?”

He was smiling now, and there were tears in his eyes as well. “I am not a new man, Brienne. I am still a maimed knight whose name is mud throughout the seven kingdoms. But I stand before you now a free man, free from old ties, a man who wants to be better. I can’t say that I am worthy of you. I’m not. But it would be the honour of my life to spend the rest of it trying to be.”

She smiled sadly, through her tears. “I would not have you merely for honour, ser.”

“What about for love, then? I love you,” he said emphatically, “and I know you love me, you told me so right before you kissed me last night.” He looked faintly smug and yet nervous; it was an odd expression on his beautiful face.

She blushed to remember. “It looks like your memory is coming back.”

He shrugged it off. “You love me,” he repeated, “as I love you. Marry me, Brienne. I would not be parted from you again, unless you wished it.”

“Hurt me again,” she said, slowly, “and I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

He swallowed and nodded, eyes wide. His breathing was shallow and quick, matching hers.

Brienne took a deep breath, nodded decisively and said, “Yes, I’ll marry you, Jaime –“ and he was kissing her before she could finish her sentence, his left hand in her hair and the other one around her waist, and she was kissing him back, almost wild in her hunger.

He kissed her mouth, her jawline, her neck, moving down slowly until he hit her shirt. He eyed the laces a moment, then asked, “would my lady do the honours?”

She sank down into the tall grass with him, unlacing her shirt as she went, then his. Trousers were summarily done away with as well, then he was leaning over her, mouthing and kissing at her breasts, his left hand between her legs, and she was gasping and clutching at him, and she could hear him saying, “so beautiful, my Brienne,” and then suddenly pleasure broke over her, like a wave in Shipbreaker bay.

She came back to herself, slowly, shivering. He was watching her with an almost boyish smile. “I don’t know what it is,” he said, “but your eyes look even bluer here, under the skies of Tarth,” and kissed her. Then he was hard inside her, moving, and she held him close, felt the muscles in his back as he worked, kissed him frantically as they both climbed. “Jaime,” she panted, “my Jaime,” and he replied, “Yours, only yours, Brienne, yes,” and she felt his release deep inside her just as she fell from the same peak. They clung to each other, trembling and kissing.

Eventually they dressed themselves and made their way back to Evenfall, talking and smiling as they went.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author kind of forgot it was winter and characters should probably not be having sex outdoors. *shrug*   
> Also “Nothing’s more hateful than failing to protect the ones you love” is a Brienne line from 5x03.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale? What finale? I thought the show ended at 8x03?!

The only blot on Brienne’s happiness was the memory of the danger she had left behind in King’s Landing. She looked at Jaime, smiling and unburdened at her side, and wished she could keep him thus, if only for an hour, a day, a week. She did not wish to see a shadow fall across his face as it had done at Winterfell.  Yet almost immediately she knew she could not keep secrets from him. She knew herself well enough to know that she was terrible at dissimulation; but more importantly, it would not do to begin their life together on a lie, even a lie of omission.

“Brienne, what’s the matter?” Jaime said, and she looked at him. _He was too perceptive_ , she thought ruefully, and reached out for his hand. He gave it, slightly wary now, and she told him everything she knew about the Dragon Queen and the danger his brother and the Starks were in.

He did not look surprised; nobody would who had seen King’s Landing burn.

“She has the look of her mother, Rhaella, but not her spirit. Rhaella was a gentle woman, broken before her time by Aerys’ cruelties. Daenerys has steel in her spine, and defiance, and that she gets from Aerys, along with his madness. Aerys would laugh, to see his daughter succeed where he failed.”

“She seemed well enough at Winterfell.”

“Aerys ruled well enough for years, until the defiance of Duskendale turned his mind.” He laughed, slightly bitter, “I hated Robert Baratheon for his drunken disregard of Cersei, but the fifteen years of his rule were at least peaceful enough. I imagine in a few years they’ll write songs about him, Good King Robert, to be sung in quiet where those loyal to the Queen cannot hear.”

“But what shall we do?”

“We? Nothing. I know my brother well enough to assume that he probably already has a plot or twenty in motion; he’s taken you and me off the King’s Landing _cyvasse_ board to give himself freedom to move. This is Tyrion’s war, one of words and cunning subtleties, not ours, and I rate his chances at winning far higher than ours. “

 “Sansa said something along those lines to me, before I left.”

“Sansa Stark has her father’s steel, her mother’s sense of duty, and Petyr Baelish’s cunning. It’s a terrifying combination. Honestly with Sansa and Tyrion against her, I could almost pity Daenerys. Who does she have on her side? Jon Snow?”

Brienne shook her head. “I wonder. Jon Snow may love his Queen, but he loves his sisters just as well. I took Sansa to find him at Castle Black, remember? The look on his face when he saw her, it was like a man getting a reprieve from the gallows. No, Jon Snow wouldn’t countenance any move against the Starks. But Daenerys still has the Dothraki, and her Unsullied, and Drogon.”

Jaime laughed, “Do you know what this is like? When you’re in a melee, and there’s only you and one other person left on the field, and there’s that moment, where you could die of exhaustion but your blood’s up –“

“ –  and it’s like time stands still?” she interrupts, and he nods, ”there’s this pause, where both of you are sizing each other up, just before you make your move.” They shared a look of perfect understanding.

“Would you be content to watch _this_ tourney from afar with me, Brienne?”

She looked at his beautiful, dear face, and realized that he was really _asking_. If she said that she wanted to go back to King’s Landing, he would heave a sigh and come with her. She _loved_ him for asking, for giving her the choice to stay or to fight.

“I will, Jaime,” she said, and kissed him.

Between kisses, she pulled back, gasping, and asked, “Will _you_ be alright, stuck on Tarth?”

The grin he gave her was so filthy, her knees wobbled.

“Somehow, my dear ser, I will contrive,” he said, and reached for her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OF COURSE they bond over tourney metaphors.


	10. Chapter 10

When they finally made it back to Evenfall, lord Selwyn took one look at them and shook his head.

“Shall I call for the septon?” he said, before Brienne could give him the good news.

Brienne nodded, startled. “Yes, Father, but how did you know?”

Selywn Tarth narrowed his eyes. “You _both_ have _grass_ in your hair.”

So they were married within the hour in the great hall at Evenfall, with only her father and Podrick Payne in attendance. When it came time to exchange cloaks, Jaime swept her cloak off her shoulders and on to his, ignoring the bemused looks of both the septon and his goodfather. “You _will_ take me under your protection, won’t you, good ser?” he murmured, looking up at her through his lashes, and Brienne blushed even harder.

They got through the rest of the ceremony without further incident, though the kiss he gave her to seal their marriage vows bordered on scandalous. When they finally broke apart, he took her hand, kissed it as well, and said, for all present to hear, “my wife, ser Brienne of Tarth.” Both Podrick and her father began applauding, and later, as dinner was being served, her father whispered to her, “he’ll do.”

* * *

 

Afterwards, Brienne could never remember their wedding night in its entirety. She remembered moments – his hand trembling slightly as he unlaced her; the heat of his mouth as he kissed his way down her body; the way he shivered when she reached for him, warm and hard in her hands; his body limned in firelight as he moved, the _feel_ of him, deep inside her body; his voice, whispering, “Brienne, my wife, my own” just before release took them both and left them panting and shuddering in each other’s arms.

Eventually, when they had both caught their breath, he pulled out of her and rolled over, taking her along with him so her head was pillowed on his chest. “Say that again,” he said, and his voice was a low rumble to her ears. _Very lion-like_ , she thought, sleepily. “Say what?” she asked.

Jaime lifted his head to look at her. “Have I put you to sleep already, ser wife?” he asked, sounding altogether too smug, “alright, but say it again before you sleep, Brienne.”

“Say what, Jaime?” she mumbled. She’d be asleep in a moment.

“Call me husband once more.” His voice was serious now.

“I’m going to sleep, husband,” she said, into his chest. She fell asleep to the sound of his low laughter.

* * *

 

 

They woke just before dawn and joined again, more slowly this time. They rocked together, him whispering things in her ears that would have made her blush once; she only held him closer and whispered back. This time when she slept, she dreamt.

She was standing with Jaime on the ramparts of Winterfell, both of them in full armour. They were completely alone; no defenders within the castle, no dead without, and no sound except the wind. They looked at each other and drew their swords as one, Valyrian steel singing, just as a dragon appeared and bathed them both in blue flames.

She closed her eyes in fear, and when she opened them, they were somewhere underground, somewhere dark, with shallow water flowing over their feet. Their swords burned now with a bright blue flame, but they were naked save their sword belts and scabbards, and she was afraid. “Jaime,” she said, “what lives in the darkness?”

“Doom,” he said, “only doom,” and the flames of his sword went out, and she was left alone in the darkness.

She heard a noise behind her, and whirled, but now she was in a cellar, and there was a massive cairn standing before her, and atop the cairn was a golden hand. She climbed the cairn, sword in hand, slipping a few times and scraping her skin on the stones, but the pain was nothing to the fear in her heart. She reached the top of the cairn and paused, her heart hammering. She sheathed Oathkeeper, and reached for the golden hand with both of hers. She pulled at it, only to find herself falling backwards with a scream, closing her eyes against the inevitable impact.

Only it never came, and she opened her eyes to find herself on Tarth, in a meadow, with the sun on her face. She was sitting, leaning on a tree, and when she looked down, Jaime was asleep with his head on her lap, and their swords lay within hands reach. As she watched, he smiled in his sleep, and she reached her hand down to brush his hair away from his face.

“Don’t,” she heard a voice say, and looked up to see Cersei Lannister standing above them, beautiful and aloof. Her dress was red, shot through with gold, and on the skirts there were three lions embroidered. “He came into the world with me,” Cersei said, in her sweet, poisonous voice, “he shall leave it with me as well,” and reached for him; only Brienne reached and pulled Oathkeeper from its scabbard, and once again it burst into bright blue flame, so bright that Brienne had to close her eyes against it. When she opened her eyes again, Cersei was gone, and Oathkeeper was back in its scabbard. In her right hand instead was a star, beautiful and glowing. “Jaime, look,” she said, holding the star close to her with one hand and reaching down with the other to wake her husband –

– only to find herself being woken, instead. “Sweetling, wake up,” Jaime said, smiling down at her, “I’ve never known you to be such a slugabed before.”

Brienne smiled back. “Husband,” she said, “I had the strangest dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the exchange about what lives in the darkness and doom comes straight from ASOS. 
> 
> Jaime also _does_ call Brienne 'sweetling' in the same book, though he's trying to kill her at the time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is total fluff. Ridiculously so.

 

> _Lord Tyrion,_
> 
> _I have arrived safely on Tarth. I am happy to report that my father’s health has improved since his letter to you, though he remains confined to his sickbed and is not expected to rise from it for moons yet. He has asked that I remain on Tarth to prepare to take up his mantle as Evenstar and I have accepted my duty as his daughter._
> 
> _Kindly convey my thanks to our gracious Queen for her assistance in my return home, as well as my regrets to Lady Sansa that I can no longer remain in her service._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Ser Brienne of Tarth_

 

Brienne finished writing and passed the letter across to Jaime, seated on the other side of her desk. He read it, brow slightly creased in concentration, and passed it back to her, nodding. “You send this letter to Tyrion, he dutifully shares it with his Queen, she sees that you will not be returning to King’s Landing to stand by Sansa Stark – that will keep Daenerys happy enough, I should think.”

She nodded, feeling a little conflicted; Jaime looked into her face and sighed dramatically, “another reason for me to be happy that you married me, ser wife.”

She rolled her eyes at him and whatever piece of Lannister cleverness he was going to throw at her. “ _What_ , ser husband?”

“Well, in addition to your many other sterling qualities, you have a fundamental antipathy to deceit. It’s an excellent quality in a wife.” His eyes grew shadowed for a moment, then he looked at her and the shadows fled.

“Besides, can you imagine what the truthful version of that letter might look like? ‘ _Dearest Goodbrother, I have married an aged and maimed lion, who regardless of his infirmities savages me night and day, giving me no respite_ – oww, _Brienne_ – “ she had picked up a cushion, walked over to his side of the desk and started hitting him with it, till he grabbed both the cushion and her, and pulled her on to his lap.

“Weren’t you supposed to take me under your protection, wench?” he growled.

She put on a lofty expression, “I don’t believe I ever actually agreed to do that, husband.”

“Oh,” Jaime replied, his eyes fixed on her mouth, “perhaps I’ve offered insufficient inducement.”

“ _Hmm_ ,” said Brienne, waiting.

The letter did not get sent till the next day.

* * *

 

It did not take long for life to fall into a certain rhythm at Evenfall Hall. Every morning after breakfast, Brienne and Jaime would train in the inner bailey with Podrick. At first, Brienne had been worried for Jaime; the long weeks of injury and near-starvation would have reduced his endurance, if not his skill, and she dreaded the moment when he realized his new weakness. The first day was as horrible as she had expected, with Jaime not able to keep up with drills any half-trained squire could have managed. When training was over, and she had sent Pod back to the armoury, she turned to Jaime, who was lying on a bale of hay, wheezing.

“It’ll get better, Jaime.”

He propped himself on an elbow and stared at her, eyes narrowed. Slowly he broke into a smile. “Did you worry for me, wife?”

“What wife wouldn’t?” Brienne retorted, nonplussed.

“I’ve had worse,” he said, lightly. “The first time I tried to train after I lost my hand was… _educational_.” Jaime looked up at her, cat-green eyes gleaming. “And I didn’t even have a wife to console me then.” He leapt off the bale and prowled towards her. Suddenly she was the one short of breath. “No one to tend my wounds and tell me things would get better.”

“You haven’t got any wounds,” she breathed. He was very close now, close enough for her to see the silver in his beard.

“Don’t you think you ought to check more closely?” Jaime murmured.

When Podrick came back, he found the bailey empty.

* * *

 

Afterwards, Jaime would join Brienne as she and her father discussed the running of Evenfall and the larger concerns of Tarth itself. He would usually listen quietly but attentively, only rarely interjecting to clarify a point. Sometimes, he would have the strangest expression on his face as he watched them speak; Brienne almost thought it was envy, but why would a Lannister of Casterly Rock be envious of them?

One day, after lunch, when they were out riding, he said, “You’re lucky, you know?”

Seeing her incredulous look, he went on, “That you have a father like Lord Selwyn, I mean.”

Brienne smiled. “How many other fathers would let their only daughter run off to play at knighthood?”

“I don’t mean just that – though I’m endlessly thankful he did, else we’d never have met – more the fact that he actually values your opinion. My father, in similar circumstances, would hear me out and then promptly dismiss everything I had said in favour of what he’d already determined.”

Brienne had never met Lord Tywin Lannister, only seen him in passing during Joffrey’s wedding, but even from that distance, the man had exuded a sort of chilly remoteness. She tried to imagine growing up with a father like that, a stern, dictatorial father who’d never have let her train with the sword, let alone allow her to challenge her fiancé to a fight. She shuddered.

“Are you _that_ thankful you didn’t grow up with a father like Tywin Lannister, Brienne?”

“I am, actually,” she replied. “If I had, I’d have never been allowed to pick up a sword, and I’d probably be married to ser Humfrey Wagstaff.”

Jaime brought his horse to an abrupt halt, so she did the same, circling about to face him.

“Ser Humfrey Wagstaff?” Jaime said, sounding outraged, “but he’s _old_ , and a terrible bore besides!”

“You know him?”

“I met him at a tourney once, the crashing old dullard. You and he were betrothed?”

Brienne sighed. “When I was sixteen, we were. Only he told me that he would not have his lady wife cavorting about in man’s mail, lest he be forced to _chastise_ me.”

Jaime’s face was a frozen mask. “Did he _dare_ -?”

“Oh, I’m sure he would have liked to. Only – only I told him that I would only accept chastisement from a man who could outfight me. And then I broke his collarbone and two ribs.” She looked across at Jaime, feeling a bit shy, but he was staring at her as if she were something wondrous.

“ _Of_ _course_ you did, you _glorious_ woman,” he said, tugging her horse’s reins to bring her closer, and kissed her.

They were late for dinner that evening, and they both had grass in their hair. Again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author cannot write smut so she opts to just cut to black instead.
> 
> Comments are lovely! Or come say hi on [tumblr](https://pastequefolle.tumblr.com/), where I am _still_ incredibly salty about what D&D did to our ship, and the show in general.


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